HOST 9 (2) pp. 193–211 Intellect Limited 2018 Horror Studies Volume 9 Number 2 © 2018 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/host.9.2.193_1 Kevin Cooley and Caleb Andrew Milligan University of Florida Haunted objects, networked subjects: The nightmarish nostalgia of creepypasta Abstract Keywords In this article, we argue that the digitally networked horror genre ‘creepypasta’ and creepypasta its networked horror collapses the comfortable dichotomy of subjects acting upon nostalgia objects by creating narrative spaces in which haunted objects encroach upon the lives networks of their victimized subjects. Particularly, creepypasta legends such as ‘Candle Cove’ actancy and ‘BEN Drowned’ upset the subject/object relationships of the technological nostal- material performance gia that fuels a mutating genre of Internet discourse. By alienating mythologized glitch horror childhood artefacts (i.e., television shows, video games), these networked narratives depict not how properties can be made strange, but more accurately, are revealed as having always been strange. The perversion of the nostalgic text is only one part of what generates horror in these stories. It is that the texts themselves were always the perversions to begin with; always performing an eradication of object and subject, player and game, reader and text. The saddest thing about nostalgia is that it is always the seed of tragedy. We fall in love with a story, we tell it to ourselves again and again, we fall in love with our retellings, we forget to consider whether there was ever a meaningful difference between the story and our retellings and, eventually, we make the decision to revisit that story: expecting, of course, the static object we’ve immortalized in our minds to exist just as we think we’ve left it. 193 04_HOST 9.2_Cooley_193-211.indd 193 11/14/18 3:46 PM Kevin Cooley | Caleb Andrew Milligan The Internet and its many social media practices only further this fixity of what one could call object-oriented ontology, but what might be better described as object-oriented hagiography. With the advanced affordances of extended community and instant connectivity, nostalgia is inevitably networked. Entire pages dedicated to what ‘Only 90 Kids Remember!’ proliferate beside posts that comparatively bemoan the state of every issue and idea ‘these days’. We have arguably always lived in nostalgic times, but the Internet (connecting corpora- tions to consumers) seems to have learned our past-glutted preferences and fed them back to us for profit, as endless remakes of beloved childhood franchises flood the marketplace. The recent smash hit of the Netflix original series Stranger Things (2016–present), 1980s influenced flair and all, definitively marks nostalgia as definitively in. But if we probe beyond the commercial appeal of the Upside Down, we can highlight the more subtly intriguing promise that Stranger Things popularized: the nearly contradictory connection between nostalgia and horror. When we peer past the profit motive, we can see how online horror communi- ties tapped into that contradictory connection first, outside of commercial gain. Online horror and its subversive commentaries on social media practices do not permit a safely linear relationship with the things we love. It forces us out of the familiarity of our comfortable perch in the position of subject, disarms us of the ability to identify narratives and other agents as objects, and reveals that the screen we thought we could watch horror unfold behind with a tense handful of popcorn was never a one-way window. For the Internet lore known as ‘creepypasta’ often indulges in haunting tales that collapse the subject/object dichotomy and alienates the nature of nostalgia intrinsic to our presumptions of safety and subjecthood. As it metatextually unfolds via technology, many iterations of creepypasta reach for technological nostalgia as they spread terror and tellingly reveal how this symptom of the cultural upgrade path is sewn up with the logic of subject-object relations. Statements like ‘I played that as a kid!’ and ‘I remember that show!’ weave a web in which it is only possible to conceive of the electronic narrative text as an object and the reader/player/viewer as a subject who explores it. When creepypasta’s networked horror destabilizes this dichotomy of subject and object, then, the familiar does not just become unfamiliar, but uncanny: entirely unlike the illu- sory memory of the seemingly stable object of our nostalgia. In this article, we argue that creepypasta’s networked horror collapses the comfortable dichotomy of subjects acting upon objects by creating narra- tive spaces in which haunted objects encroach upon the lives of their victim- ized subjects. Particularly, creepypasta legends such as ‘Candle Cove’ and ‘BEN Drowned’ upset the subject/object relationships that fuel technological nostalgia. By alienating mythologized childhood artefacts (i.e., television shows, video games), these networked narratives depict not how properties can be made strange, but more accurately, are revealed as having always been strange. The perversion of the nostalgic text is only one part of what generates horror in these stories. It is that the texts themselves were always the perver- sions to begin with; always performing an eradication of object and subject, player and game, reader and text. Creepypasta, or networked nostalgia goes bump in the night Creepypasta has proliferated in certain corners of the Internet for some time now. The term ‘creepypasta’ is a portmanteau of the words ‘creepy’ and ‘copypasta’. ‘Copypasta’ came into use around 2006 to refer to texts 194 Horror Studies www.intellectbooks.com 195 04_HOST 9.2_Cooley_193-211.indd 194 11/14/18 3:46 PM Haunted objects, networked subjects that could be easily copy/pasted and spread virally. Its creepier counterpart became a recognizable term after the founding of creepypasta.com in 2008 and the Creepypasta Wiki in 2010. Many early creepypasta in the late 2000s were shared on the imageboard website 4chan’s /x/ board, concerned with paranormal activity. But the form already had origins in Internet legends like ‘Polybius’, a story involving a psychoactive arcade game first shared on coinop. org in 1998. For a pre-network inspiration, creepypasta could be considered ‘a digital version of folklore’, according to Christi Williams (2015), in that they are ‘are easy to read and get to a central point that allows others to relate to it’ and ‘usually have a core “story”’ which is continuously retold, causing ‘variants in the original story, much like old folklore used to spread’. Will Wiles (2013) agrees that creepypasta is ‘a folk literature of the web’, adding that it is a ‘a widely distributed and leaderless effort to make and share scary stories’ which, ‘instead of the campfire’, gathers us ‘around the flickering light of our computer monitors’. Creepypasta are now as plentiful as those countless folk tales of long ago, and academic criticism on the subject has begun to treat it as a fascinating form of digital storytelling worth analytical consideration Our article is not the first to analyse creepypasta as a unique genre of networked narrative. Line Henriksen (2014), for example, has been present- ing and publishing on ‘how to eat your creepypasta well’ for a few years now. But much of the academic criticism thus far congregates around this netlore’s most popular figure: the Slenderman. Shira Chess and Eric Newsom (2014), among others, have faced down the faceless Slenderman. But what we explore in our article, away from the ‘spectre’ of the Slenderman, is how other creepy- pasta are similarly manifested into believability in a liminal space between fact and fiction. Stoking that digital campfire again, Wiles argues, ‘Spooky stories around the campfire require an element of game-playing, a collective suspension of disbelief − these rules are now being adapted and elaborated for an age of YouTube and open-access wikis’. This suspension of disbelief is a literal one, as evidenced by the actual rules dictating decorum on Reddit’s /r/ NoSleep subreddit, a popular repository for creepypasta: Are the stories here true? While you’re in /r/NoSleep, everything is true. Outside of NoSleep, a story may be fact or may be fiction. The important thing is that while you’re here, treat everything as though it is a true recount of events. (ibitemynails n.d., original emphasis) For the power of creepypasta as a digital extension of folklore is its playfulness as ‘true’ retelling, further spread into the mythos of the web by readers and players who willingly suspend disbelief for it. Speaking to a different sort of imagetext, Joseph Witek’s (1989: 116) words nevertheless apply well to creepypasta, in which ‘realism […] becomes a conspiracy between the writer and the reader, not an essential relation between certain texts and the world of experience’. But the scholars who write about creepypasta and all its ‘ghosts’ as objects of study, are nearly always like the image of the scholar Jacques Derrida describes in Specters of Marx: A traditional scholar does not believe in ghosts − nor in all that could be called the virtual space of spectrality. There has never been a scholar who, as such, does not believe in the sharp distinction between the real and the unreal, the actual and the inactual, the living and the non-living, 194 Horror Studies www.intellectbooks.com 195 04_HOST 9.2_Cooley_193-211.indd 195 11/14/18 3:46 PM Kevin Cooley | Caleb Andrew Milligan being and non-being […] in the opposition between what is present and what is not, for example in the form of objectivity. (2006: 12) We the authors of this paper would feel safer being sceptical of things that virtually go bump in the networked night. We cannot deny, though, the softening of that ‘sharp distinction between’ the real and the unreal which creepypasta like ‘Candle Cove’ and ‘BEN Drowned’ estrange so well.